Consumed

 And Those who brush their teeth with your ashes, young king, barricaded in the centrefold as the guns go off by themselves, abide by greyscale, hit the surface and bend like self-taught light, as the guns go off by themselves, young king, as you might have thought they would. All around us is Switzerland, my own daughter, Swiss as she spills her cup, the police, Swiss as they throw me against the wall, what wall in Switzerland is the softest? it’s true we are the true Swiss. I tried to break you out but my cheque bounced, they asked me what rule Ma’at mothered and my retreat was west African with a feigned southern drawl to throw them off the scent. you might have thought it was late night television and I the ambassador with 41 keys on a chain of laughter, your mouth a lock they can’t escape by simply speaking Portuguese or throwing their bodies against remembrance Sunday. Last week I wrote the words to the national anthem as I sat in the theatre, above them I created a no fly zone and hung your name there like the 40 years after a junta, missing people performed an auction but you are not the child in this scene I told myself, you are not the child in this scene.

*The line “the guns go off by themselves” was taken from Frantz Fanon's The Wretched of the Earth, quite randomly, it stood out.